Bonanza!

          Cookies!

          Cookies, cookies, cookies!

          How, oh how, does a short little fat woman ever hope to lose weight when she loves to bake?

          Yeah. Me. I'm talking about me!

          This week has been a bonanza of baking. I got a request from my beautiful sister Phyllis this week. "Rachel wants me to make Aunt Peggy's Pumpkin Roll when she comes home for Thanksgiving and I was wondering if you would make it instead?" Her daughter is away at college and it was originally Aunt B's Pumpkin Roll.

          There's nothing within my power that I would ever deny my sister or anyone that I love. "I'd love to!" I told her.

          And that, my dears, was the catalyst that set off a flurry turned avalanche of baking in this house! Too ripe bananas turned into banana bread. My Miss Rosie makes the best banana bread and despite using her recipe, mine is never as good. The recipe makes three mini loaves so I thought to put one in Phyllis' goodie box, give on to my friend Jody, and take the last one down to the guys at the bridge. Well, one mini loaf of banana bread won't go far amongst a crew of hungry hard-working men, will it. So I made Dream Bars to divvy up. When Mike and I went down to the bridge to deliver the goodies to the guys, they weren't working. I brought them home with me.

          Thanksgiving is coming fast so I set to work making pumpkin roll, which didn't take long and needs to cool for at least an hour before filling. In the meantime, I'm thinking about Phyllis' goodie box. I'm using a flat rate box from the post office to send them and it might just as well be full. With just the pumpkin roll, a mini loaf of banana bread, and a few Dream Bars it wouldn't be anywhere near full. So I decided to make Mexican Wedding Cakes.

          "My mom made a cookie very similar to this," Miss Rosie said when I gave her some. "But she called them Pecan Crescents."

          "They remind me of Russian Tea Cakes," Jody said.

          And when I was growing up, Phyllis made these cookies and called them Snowballs. It doesn't matter what you call them because all four of these recipes are almost exactly the same.

          The recipe doesn't make a lot but I managed to tuck a few in the container for the bridge guys. I wonder if they'll be working at the bridge tomorrow, rattled around in my head along with, How can I find out? If they weren't going to be working for a few days then I needed to do something else with their cookies.

          Shortly after meeting Duane, the crew boss, we met his kids. He'd brought them to the job site one day and little Addie invited us to come to her house.

          "Should I bring cookies?" I asked.

          She got a big smile on her face and nodded.

          ''And what kind would be your favorite?"

          "Peanut butter!"

          Mike and I, on a drive-about one day, made an impromptu stop and visited with Duane and his family. His dad Greg was there and we already knew him because he works with Duane. We'd already met two of his kids, Addie and Ethan, and on this visit, we met his wife Liz and their oldest daughter Nell. A really nice, a really beautiful family. I had to apologize to Addie for not bringing her cookies because I didn't know we were going to stop for a visit. She was kind enough to forgive me. Later I did make cookies for her. I made peanut butter and chocolate chip and sent them home with Duane.

          Since then I've spoken with Liz a few times on Facebook. I wonder if she'd ask Duane for me. I messaged her. "I was wondering if Duane will be having any guys working at the bridge tomorrow. I made cookies today and took them down but there wasn't anyone around. Would you mind asking him for me please?"

          "Duane is leaving tomorrow to go on a school field trip with Ethan. Could the girls and I stop after school tomorrow?" Liz answered.

          What just happened may be obvious to you but I puzzled over it for a full two minutes before I figured it out. Liz thought I'd made cookies for them and intended to send them home with Duane. My, oh my, oh my. I re-read my note and looking at it with new eyes, I understood how she could have read it that way. Well, if Liz wanted cookies then I'd make Liz cookies!

          "Yes, stop tomorrow," I told her. "I'm sorry you have to go the long way around. We'll all be glad when the bridge is done!"

          "The 'long way around' is defiantly worth your cookies!!!" Liz gave me three exclamation points! Maybe they really did like my cookies and maybe they'd been hoping for more?

          Addie's favorite is peanut butter so I made a batch of peanut butter cookies for her. I'm not even a bit sad about having to make more cookies. I like to bake, did I tell you that? And it would give me another treat to add to Phyllis' goodie box. 

          Something else that's been on my mind to make for a while now is Peanut Chewies, a recipe I came across more than twenty years ago. It's a no-bake cookie with peanuts, coconut, and Wheaties. I had all the stuff in the pantry to make it so I made it.

          I had a nice assortment ready when Liz and the girls arrived the next day. Peanut butter cookies, chocolate chip, Peanut Chewies, and Wedding Cakes. I also included a pumpkin roll for their Thanksgiving dinner. We had a really nice visit. Liz is such a sweet lady.

          "Now don't eat all of those on the way home," I told Addie. "Save some for after supper."

          A little later I get a message from Liz. "We couldn't help it. We tried them all except the pumpkin roll, which I'm going to put in the freezer until next week, or the girls and I will eat it all. Thank you so much for thinking of us. They were delicious!"

          My cup runneth over. It was such a blessing to have Liz and Addie visit. I realized that God somehow had His hand in this and I invited Liz to come to Moxie Church and hear Pastor Rick speak. She said she goes to a church already but would come to Sunday service sometime.

          The Peanut Chewy recipe makes quite a lot! I shared with the Kipps, put some in Phyllis' goodie box, sent some home with Liz, and still had enough to put a dozen aside for my friend Jody.

          The next time I spoke with Jody, I said, "I have a bag of cookies here with your name on them."

          "Some more of those white ones?" she asked hopefully.

          I felt bad about letting her down. "No. This is a different kind."

          Later the answer came to me. The way I could feel better. There wasn't a thing stopping me from making another batch of the Mexican Wedding Cakes. And it was with joy that I mixed a third — or maybe fourth batch by this time, of these scrumptious little cookies. Jody was surprised and pleased when I gave them to her. 

          I was 'complaining', in my morning love note, about eating cookies for supper and not feeling so well. "But I can't give them away without tasting them first!"

          My friend Trish agreed with me. "You're right about testing the cookies but maybe one is enough," she said.

          The next morning's love note said we were going shopping and I was going to stop at the second-hand store. "I'm going to look for more old-lady-elastic-waist-band pants if I can find any. They're easy on and off, comfy, and with the right fabric, warm too."

          "I love comfy pants," Trish says and then adds the reason why we love stretchy pants. "Remember one cookie is a sample. LOL"

          I'm thinking, One? Who eats just one cookie? "One cookie does not cut it," I told her. "You have to taste the dough (only true with chocolate chip), then you have to have a cookie when they're warm out of the oven, and finally you have to taste one once they've cooled. It's like a three cookie minimum per batch!"

          "Since you explain it that way, I guess it is three!"

          Well, the truth comes out when it's time for a shower. "Look at that!" I complained to Mike. "My ass is getting fatter and fatter! Just look at that, would ya!"

          Mike had no sympathy for me.  

          "And it's all your fault!" I ranted.

          "My fault! How is it my fault?" he wanted to know.

          So I told him. "It's your fault because I'm happy! People who are happy weigh more! And I'm really really happy!"

          You know something? I know you know lots of something's but did you know that I've collected a ton of cookbooks over the years. I should've let my beautiful daughter-in-law go through them when she was here and take what she wanted.

          Shoulda, woulda, coulda, didn't.

          One old cookbook, in particular, has been calling my name lately. I'm not really sure why. It's just some old notebook someone's put together with both handwritten recipes and those cut from newspapers, glued to lined notebook pages. 

          Three times, four times it has come to my mind to pull it down and look at it. Finally I did. I opened the cover and the first thing I see is a bunch of those old Workbasket magazines from the seventies. Then I start flipping through the recipes. This is the first time I've ever seen my Dream Bar recipe anyplace else.

          I stop and read through this Rhubarb Crunch recipe and I'm thoroughly confused. 

          Mix the above ingredients with fork but mix very lightly for remaining dry ingredients in bowl should be dusted over the casserole when ready for the oven, it says.

          Place uncooked cut rhubarb in bottom of baking dish, add a fourth cup of sugar. Cover with the crunch mixture...

          Cover with the crunch mixture? Wait a minute. What did I miss? I read the recipe several times. Mix the above ingredients... Sugar, baking powder, salt, flour, and egg. It seems to me that once you add an egg you're no longer gonna have a crunch mixture. It seems to me that it'll be too wet once you add an egg. Am I wrong?

          Look at this one. Chipmunk Bars anyone? Rich and chewy, this dessert will delight the entire family. I think I'd like to make this one at least once. The recipe calls for one cup shortening (1/2 butter). I smiled at that. They couldn't say one-half cup shortening, one-half cup butter?

          Now this recipe! This recipe brings back a memory for me for a completely different reason than the one you might guess.

          I don't know how it came about, when it started or why, but for some reason, some people in this era had a unique way of crossing their t's — but only t's that end a word. Like coconut, peanut, and light. Do you see it?

          When I was a young teenager, I noticed my mother wrote her t's this way. I just thought it was the cat's meow — the coolest way ever to cross a t!

          As luck would have it, we had a spelling test the next day. I wrote every single t on my spelling test this way. Then the teacher had us exchange and grade each other's paper. I guess the kid grading my paper never saw a t crossed this way and marked almost every single one of my words wrong. I was so embarrassed that I took the failing mark rather than speak up for myself. 

          As long as we're talking about food, let me add one more noteworthy event from this week.

          Years and years ago, our Missouri friend, Margaret, gave me one of her favorite recipes. It was for Hamburger Stroganoff. I never made it. When I was digging through my recipe box looking for the Peanut Chewy recipe I stumbled on it.

          I should make this, I thought and bought all the stuff I needed. Actually, the only thing in it that I don't normally buy was a can of cream of chicken soup and a bag of noodles. Well, the noodles were my thing. The recipe calls for you to put the stroganoff over rice.

          While making it I had a couple of questions so I called Margaret.

          "Margaret, it doesn't say to drain the grease off the hamburger."

          "Well, you need some but if you have a lot you might want to drain some off."

          "And it calls for one cup of the soup. Is that prepared or straight out of the can?" I asked.

          "Just out of the can," she confirmed.

          "Can I use the whole can?"

          "How big is it?" she wanted to know.

          I checked the label. "Ten and a half ounces."

          'Well, there's eight ounces in a cup..."

          "I know, right! What am I going to do with two and a half ounces of leftover soup?"

          "I guess it wouldn't hurt. You'll have to let me know how it turns out."

          It was good. It was really good and I called Margaret back to tell her so. "I'm just sorry I didn't make it years ago," I told her. "I could've been making it all these years!"

          "Oh, we loved it. I used to make it quite often."

          "How did you get the recipe?" I wanted to know.

          "Oh my. I've had this for many years."

          "Like what? Forty? Fifty?"

          "Oh, yes. At least that long."

          "Where did you get it?"

          "I don't remember anymore. Maybe it was one of my mothers." Considering that Margaret's in her 90s, she's probably had the recipe much longer than fifty years.

          "Well, I have to tell you, I used noodles instead of rice."

          "Oh. That's all right. Now that you say it, I'm certain it was one of my mother's recipes. She never used noodles."

          "That's funny. My mother never had spaghetti until she was a grown woman." And I don't think she ever made spaghetti for us kids when we were growing up either. Goulash with elbow macaroni yes but no spaghetti. "Margaret, can I share your recipe with anyone who asks for it?" I wanted to know.

          "Why, sure!"

          And while I'm speaking of parents, this handsome guy right here is my dad.

           I've told you before that he and my friend Trish had a very special, very close relationship. When we buried Momma, we put Pop in there too. But first, those of us who wanted some of his ashes got some of his ashes. Trish wanted some and I sent her a mini urn.

          Ben, one of Trish's grown sons, is a fabulous sculptor. I may not care for his subject matter but I can certainly appreciate the talent it took to create it.

           Ben would like to make a holder for the mini urn. "Is there anything that Burton especially liked?" she asked me.

          "What do you mean? Like bears or cows? He milked cows for years and Jerseys were his favorite."

          I can't remember if there was anything special that either of our parents was especially fond of. The only thing my parents collected was kids. All joking aside, I was wondering if any of you knew if Pop had a special love for something Ben can sculpt.

          Again this week we didn't spend much time at the bridge. Early in the week they loaded the Bidwell on a truck and hauled it out.

          Now they're building the forms for the parapets (a low wall). 

          "Do you see the nails they're using?" Mike asked.

          "Yeah?"

          "They're made special for this kind of work. They have a double head on them so you can pull them back out," he explained.

          "That is so interesting," Miss Rosie said. "I had no idea."

          And that got me to thinking. Maybe you don't know that such a thing exists either. I asked for one of the nails and they gave me one.

          I'm enjoying seeing the birds come to the feeders. A little Chickadee hanging upside down.

          The red patch on the back of his head says this one is a male woodpecker. But since I learned there is a Hairy as well as a Downy Woodpecker, I can't really tell them apart unless they're side-by-side. They look very similar with the Hairy being larger.

          A female Downy Woodpecker.

 

          A Tufted Titmouse.

          A trip to town for milk nets me a couple of pictures. Some kind of engine maybe?

          A helicopter came low and went over our head. "Why is he going so slow?" I asked like Mike would know. The helicopter made a turn and came lower as he headed for the field at the school. Then I knew why. "It's a life-flight. They didn't have anywhere else to land it so they're landing there."

          We drove in the school parking lot and parked out of the way, watching. The crew got out of the helicopter and made their way to a waiting ambulance. After a while, they came from the ambulance, transferred gurneys, loaded their patient into the helicopter, and then took off.

          It never fails to bring me sadness when I see a life-flight helicopter, for our daughter was life-flighted from the scene of the accident that took her life. 

          More pictures! More pictures! A trip to Athens Walmart brings a few more. A train bridge.

          We passed the spot where the eagles nest in the spring and there were two eagles in the nest! On the way home I had Mike stop and I walked back to where the eagle nest used to be. Yes, I said used to be. The tree was gone. I was puzzled. I double-checked that I was in the right spot. Yep, there's the sign about eagle etiquette. But the tree and the nest were gone.

            I looked around and was relieved when I spotted an eagle and a nest a little farther down the river. There was only one there and he definitely knew I was there. I took a few shots and went back to the Jeep. 

          As Mike and I were driving past I showed him where the new nest was and there were two eagles in it again.

          Mike had to go out of our way in order for me to get this picture of train graffiti. That's pretty fancy-schmancy. 

          We pulled off the road and watched the big dozers work for a little while. 

          I spotted this old silo foundation where Mike had pulled off the road. The fuzzy reddish-brown thing in the lower left corner is a Ginger ear.

          Old School BBQ had a sale on brisket so Mike and I made the trip down to Homets Ferry to pick up a couple of pounds. I took some pictures but first let me tell you about Homet. The locals pronounce it different than others do and I found a genealogy page for the first Homet that came here.

          Charles Homet (pronounced o-me) was among the French refugees who came to America during the French revolution of 1793. Charles helped to construct the Queen's House in preparation for the arrival of Marie Antoinette. She didn't live long enough to come to America. Most of the French refugees returned to France but Charles didn't. He purchased a large amount of property from the French families who decided to return to France and became a very successful farmer. Eventfully there was a ferry and a mill there and it became known as Homets Ferry.

         Okay. Now that we know how to pronounce it, how about some pictures.

          Sunday morning we woke to a little snow. I took a few pictures on my way to church.

   

          I'm going to stop at this house someday and ask if I can walk around and take pictures of his treasures.

 

 

          Hmmm. I think I see a drawback to backup cameras. Wet, muddy roads. 

           Let's call this one done!

My Bane

          Hello my loves — and you are all my loves.

          How about a sunrise photo to kick this week off.

          I love the game 3003 Crystal Mazes. I've been playing it for years. Actually, for the last three years or so, I've mostly been not playing it. I go in streaks, you know what I mean? This particular puzzle has been my bane for months and months and months! Every once in awhile I'll open the game and there it is! I'll move the diamonds around for a while then give up and close it. The next time I open it, there it is again.

          "Peg, why don't you just move on to another puzzle?" you ask.

          Because I know that every puzzle has an answer and I'm not giving up until I find it. And you know what? It only makes it that much more satisfying when I finally do figure it out. The taste of victory is so sweet I'll often times replay it over and over before I go to the next puzzle.

         

          Our new bridge.

          On Monday, they poured the deck. Mike and I got there just about the time the pumper truck came in and we watched as he got set up. The stabilizer arms came out...

          ... the boom extended.

         

          Steven saw us and waved. Look at that grin, would ya. There's a man who appreciates home-baked goodies! I made Lemon Bars for them this week.

          "Holy cow!" Mike said when they were testing it and the pumper boom was fully extended. "Look how far it goes out." He was quiet a moment as he thought things over. "I wonder how it can support all that weight. Concrete is heavy!"

          The first concrete truck came. A couple of guys filled a couple of buckets with concrete and carried them back across the bridge.  

          "Why are they doing that?" you may wonder.

          They have to have samples from every batch of concrete so they can test it. They do a seven-day break and a twenty-eight-day break testing the concrete for fracture strength.

          "What happens if it doesn't pass?" you ask.

          I know, right! I wanted to know the same thing.

          "They have to come in and core it and break it again. Then if it doesn't pass then there's a penalty," Brian, the inspector told us.

          "Is it a safety issue?" I wanted to know. All I needed was to be worrying about bridges falling out from underneath me when I'm going across. "Or does it just mean the bridge won't last as long?"

          "Right. It could not last or it could just crumble. I don't really know because I've never had that happen. That's why you use a reputable concrete company."

          When they pour a deck they call in a lot of help. There were two and a half crews here this day, sixteen guys. We got to meet and talk with Keith, one of the other crew leaders.

          "So tell me what each part of the Bidwell does?" I asked. Is that a question? Do I put a question mark there? Oh, well. Trivialities. You guys know what I mean even if I don't get it right all the time.

          Keith pointed, "The first piece makes it all the same depth, the second one floats it, and the third one is for putting on the burlap."

          I had it in my head that the first section somehow poured the concrete but that isn't it at all. The pumper truck pumps the concrete onto the deck and this machine has roller brushes on it and runs back and forth. The ends and the edges have to be hand troweled.

          Once the first section of the Bidwell was out of the way, they swung the second section into place. The third one was already there.

          We watched as Max and Wayne, one of the mechanics (he was there to fix the heater in the track hoe) set the section into place.

          "How much concrete do you think is in the boom of the pumper?" Mike asked Keith.

          "A yard. Maybe a yard and-a-half."

          "What's a yard of concrete weigh?"

          "Four thousand pounds."

          "Wow," Mike said. "Two tons. That's a lot of weight on the boom."

          Part of the finishing process of concrete is to float it. That makes the concrete smooth and compacts it.

          "They have to hand push that section?" I asked as two guys pushed Max along on the track.

          "Well, sure," came from Mike along with a confused expression. "Why?"

          "I just thought it might be attached to the first section and it would move with it." Shows you what I know!

          The third section of the Bidwell machine was used to hold the wet burlap in preparation for laying it. Here two guys are getting the burlap out of a water trough and laying it out. 

 

          "What's the deal with the wet burlap?" you ask.

          The wet burlap slows the cure time of the concrete. That makes it strong. To keep it wet they have a soaker hose attached to a small pump in the creek. 

          One of the guys got in the back of a small yellow trailer and Mike and I hadn't yet figured out what it was. I asked Keith. "What's the little yellow trailer?"

          "It's the heater."

          A heater? I'm thinking. A heater dries stuff out and they want the burlap wet. So what's the heater for?

          Don't laugh. I asked.

          The slightest of smiles cross Keith's lips as he says, "To keep it from freezing."

          That was a dah moment for me.

          I Googled it. The Wacker Neuson E 3000 is a reliable hydronic (water) surface heater designed to quickly, easily, and economically thaw frozen ground, cure concrete, prevent frost, and provide temporary air heat during cold weather conditions.

          Here's the deck covered in wet burlap. The whole thing gets covered with plastic and it has to stay in this stage for a week.

          The rest of the week they prepared the approach to the bridge but it's been so cold here that we haven't spent much time there.

          Ginger had an appointment to see  Dr. Lori for a post-op check.

           On the way we pass the site of the new LNG plant. That's Liquefied Natural Gas in case you've forgotten. I saw in the newspaper where protesters were picketing the construction.

          A drainage ditch will run through where the town of Friedenshutten once stood. Kayakers and canoers will pass by the site of this $800 million dollar project on their way down the Susquehanna River.

          "It's destroying our history and environment in one fell swoop," one of the organizers said.

          For Mike, the fascination is in the amount of big equipment they have and watching it at work. If there was a place we could pull off and watch for a while I'm sure we would do it.

          Ginger, by the way, is doing well. Dr. Lori thinks the knot in her belly is softer than the last time she examined it. Ginger goes back again in early December.

          Snow!

          We had snow!

          Not a lot but I made an effort to get a few pictures for you.

          Winterberries.         

  

          The neighbor's yard, so pretty in the summer, is even pretty in the winter.

          We went to see if the bridge guys were working and they were. They were taking the Bidwell machine down since they were done with it.

 

          Our Tractor Supply store had birdseed on sale so we made the trip (14 miles) to pick up what I'd need to see our birds through the winter.

          "Can we take 187 today?" I asked.

          "I hate that road," Mike said and I know he does. He'd rather stay on Highway 6.

          "Please? Maybe I can get some pictures for my blog."

          Mike didn't say anything but when the turn came up to 187, he took it. Here's your pictures from that trip.

          We came to the house that was destroyed in the flood a couple of three years ago. "I wonder why no one's torn it down and cleaned it up," Mike said.

          "Maybe they're still waiting on insurance. You know how they are."

          I missed the sale. Tractor Supply only runs its sales from Wednesday to Sunday. I missed it by a long shot.

          "So it was a wasted trip?" Mike was not happy with me!

          "I got some pretty pictures..." His scowled deepened. "And we can have lunch at McDonald's!"

          It didn't provide much balm for the wounded beast, but sausage egg McMuffins for lunch perked him up a little.

          On the way home we go past the new building that Mike and I were having a debate about. The bottom of the building was left open. I thought they were going to add decorative brick. Mike thought it would be windows. I knew that time would tell. Time has told. We were both wrong. It's a decorative border, just not brick. I think it's just a different color metal.

          I made chocolate chip cookies this week. This time I wasn't baking for the bridge guys and I wasn't baking for the Kipps. This time I was baking for my Mike and my friend Jody's Mike.

          I just think it made a pretty picture and I wanted to share that with you.

          I was at the kitchen window and saw Spitfire come tearing across the yard. I had little time to wonder if he was chasing or being chased when Mr. Mister came around the corner hot on his tail. Spitfire hit the weeds and made his way through the brush to the house. He never slowed as he jumped the fence. Mr. Mister was right behind him. I opened the door and yelled at Mr. I don't know what gets into him sometimes but he gets in a really foul mood and whomps on the other cats.

          A little later I saw him go after Smudge. Smudge didn't run. Smudge just hunkered down. I shooed Mr. away before he could hurt Smudge and made Smudge come into the house.

          Mike and I haven't been out to breakfast in a month of Sundays. We decided to go on Saturday morning.

          Part of the dirt road we have to travel with the bridge being closed. Yes, that's a steep bank on the right-hand side. No, there are no guide rails. But don't worry. If you go off the road the trees'll stop you before you get to the creek.

          This is the section of the road that started slipping. I don't know how long the barrier's been in place but it's the first time we've seen it.

          "I guess they don't plan on fixing it for a while," Mike said.

          Betsy!

          I've missed this smiling beautiful face. Betsy's a good waitress. She's very friendly, always happy with a ready smile, and very attentive.

          When we were going to breakfast pretty often, we'd go on Thursday and Betsy was almost always the only waitress on duty. Saturdays are busier and there was another gal on duty. She was passably attentive but didn't have a single smile for us.

          When Betsy came close, busing the table behind us, we made some small talk.

          "How have you kids been?" Betsy asked.

          "Good. You?"

          "I'm alright," she said with a smile.

          "Betsy, I'd rather have you than that old sourpuss over there," I told her.

          She opened her mouth to say something and closed it again, thinking better of it.

          "Shhhhh!" Mike hissed at me.

          "What!" I was indignant. "Others have probably told her that same thing!"

          Betsy bobbed her head, a knowing smile on her face, and was off with a tray full of dirty dishes.

          It wasn't terribly cold, the sun was shining, and I didn't want to go right home. "Do you think they tore down the Friendenshutton memorial?" I asked.

          "I don't know," Mike answered.

          I was pleased when the turn came and he made it.

          The memorial is still there. In the background you can see the groundwork being laid for the LNG plant.

          A second picture has the moon still in the sky at 10:30 in the morning.

          "How does a corn picker miss three stalks like that?" I mused.

          "Maybe it's like the lawnmower," Mike guessed. "They bend down and spring up after the picker is passed."

          "Do you think they bought all this land down to the river?"

          "I don't know," Mike answered.

          The little road we were on dead ends a little further down. We drove down to the dead end where a house stands. Although there is stuff all around, it doesn't feel like anyone's living there. 

          I saw a Pileated Woodpecker! I only got two shots of him and even though they're not great, this is the best I got.

          All along the road, Bittersweet is draped over the leafless trees. The red berries are like beacons. The vines twist around anything they can, climbing to the sun.

          I took lots of shots of the Bittersweet as we drove along the tracks but they weren't anything worth writing home about. 

          This pole has a birdhouse on it.

          Several had Bittersweet climbing all over them and I started taking pictures of those.

          Another birdhouse. I'm not sure what the white-painted wire wrapping the post is for.

          A hand-painted sign attached to this old barn declares it once was home to antiques.

          A close-up of whatever's sticking out the upper door shows it's a box of hangers. On my computer, I recognize that pattern! 

          Somewhere along the line, I picked up a sewing box with this very same pattern. I got my camera, went out into the library turned storage, and took a picture to show you.

          What do you think? Mine has legs, and still some yarns and things inside from whoever owned it before me and it doesn't have the ruffle, but maybe that had been removed. I have a feeling the one in the doorway is upside down. 

          I didn't need the sewing box I own — would you call it a sewing box or does it have another name? — and I've never done anything with it other than pile stuff on it. The people at the sale begged me to take it, so I did. I could see, in some other life, how this could become a treasured piece in my home, but for right now, there isn't room.

          The barn being built on our back dirt road is making steady headway. Even as I snapped this picture the guy was in his bucket truck working on the roof edge.

          Since we were out in the Jeep we went to check on the bridge.

          "They poured concrete on our end of the bridge," the Kipps told us.

          Mike knew it would be covered with plastic but we went to see anyway.

          Brian told us they have to pour the center of the bridge first, leaving eight feet on either end. Once all the camber is out of the bridge, usually the next day, they'll pour the remaining eight feet.

          We were leaving the job site when I spotted a blob of concrete.

          "There's a pile of concrete," I pointed out to Mike.

          "I know. I already said that. Sometimes you don't listen to me."

          I just smiled. It's an old game with us. "I don't have to listen the first time," is my standard response. "I know you'll tell me at least ten more times." It reminded me of a cow pie and I told him so. "It looks like a pile of poo."

          "You have a fascination with poo."

          I pretended to misunderstand him. "I do have an imagination."

          "Not imagination — fascination!"

          This time I outright ignored him. "If you squint your eyes and cock your head a little and use your imagination, it looks just like poo."

          Mike gave up and I smiled.

          I've had a backache all week. I was using my heating pad — I love my heating pad! — but after using it my back seemed worse. I gave up and used ice packs instead and that really helped. For a couple of days I didn't do much except hold down the recliner and read. I read two Francine Rivers books this week. I raced through The Atonement Child in two days. I slowed down a little and took three days to read The Last Sin Eater. They're Christian novels and I really, really enjoyed them. After I finish this letter blog (and we are almost there), I'm going to take the iPad and cruise the library shelves in the Libby app and find my next read.

          Until next time, know that you are all in my heart.

          Let's call this one done!